


Musings

by XmagicalX (Xparrot)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Juvenilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-05-05
Updated: 1997-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/XmagicalX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dana Scully and Fox Mulder wonder what it would have been like if they had not been assigned to each other as partners four years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musings

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I still don't own them, and Chris Carter and Co.  
> still do. I really don't have a problem with this, honest! I  
> don't mind not making money, it's just for fun! Though since I  
> cannot claim Mulder and Scully, I will assert myself the only way  
> I can: the story itself is mine, (c) 1997.

She entered the autopsy bay with some trepidation.

He was there already, arms folded, straight-backed, staring down  
at the corpse on the counter.

She eyed his back. Tall, dark suit, tousled brown hair. At her  
third footstep he turned. Quickly she composed her features into  
a professionally confident smile. "Agent Mulder, I'm Agent--"

"Dana Scully," he said with a swift nod.

"Yes." How the hell had he known? Of course she would have  
recognized him, Spooky Mulder, both star and black sheep of the  
Violent Crimes Division. But she was a teaching pathologist at  
Quantico, hardly a famous or infamous figure.

She thought she was keeping her emotions out of her face but he  
read her confusion somehow. "I saw your personal file once."   
The explanation was accompanied by a noncommittal shrug. "You're  
a good pathologist," he continued.

"I was the only one available," she interpreted for him. "And you  
apparently were pretty insistent that you needed one right away."

Tiny quirk of a smile. "Quite true, Dr. Scully. Any  
pathologist's expertise would be appreciated right now." He  
stepped aside and indicated the body. "Meet Rebecca Winston, age  
26."

"I'm looking for cause of death."

"Bingo."

"This is a murder victim?" Scully asked, approaching the corpse.   
Long brown hair, staring brown eyes, rigor mortis freezing the  
face and body in a deceptively relaxed position.

"That's what you're going to tell me, hopefully."

"This is one of your cases for the VCD."

"No." Little smirk again, or maybe it was her imagination. "No,  
this is one of my special interest cases."

"Ah." Scully searched the body for any obvious external signs.   
Nothing like stabs or bullet wounds were apparent. Blood samples  
had already been sent to Analysis to check for traces; to support  
any findings they might make she searched for smaller puncture  
marks, needle scars.

As she did her work she thought. A special interest case.   
Everyone knew about those, of course. Spooky's basement office,  
where the boogie monster lived, filed away with ghost, goblins,  
and UFOs. What were they called? The X-files, X equalling the  
unknown.

She snuck a peak up at him. Arms still crossed, eyes locked on  
the corpse, brow furrowed in the midst of some deep thought. He  
didn't see her quick glance.

He was attractive, she supposed. At least that was the consensus  
of her female friends at the Bureau. Definitely not classically  
handsome, at least. That intense look as he stared at the body  
was probably what they raved about. In her opinion it was a  
little too bright, a little too intense for her tastes. It spoke  
of obsessions and dark secrets. Perhaps thrilling in a movie  
star, but for real-life relationships she preferred someone more  
grounded.

She had good reason to be curious about him, though, and it had  
nothing to do with hormones. How long ago was it? Five--four  
years, she thought. Four years ago there were all those rumors.   
More than rumors, really. She was to have been assigned to  
Mulder, made his partner. They, the powers-that-be, had decided  
to send some bright young agent to close down his side projects  
once and for all, and she was the lucky one selected.

Then there had been that fiasco in Washington state or somesuch  
place. One of his special cases, and in his attempts to solve it  
Agent Mulder had stamped too hard on the wrong toes. The exact  
details were unknown, but it had been enough that her assistance  
was no longer needed to send him packing, back to the VCD.

Mulder apparently had influence in certain high places, enough so  
that he kept some sort of grip on those files that fascinated him  
so. When the VCD wasn't swamped he fled its confines, retreated  
down to the basement. Every week there was a brand new joke  
concerning exactly what he did do down there.

It must be more than play tiddly-winks. Because here he was with  
a corpse, and from what she had seen so far it wasn't a murder  
victim. No puncture marks. Didn't rule out poison by ingestion  
or inhalation--there possibly would be internal signs...

When she cracked the chest Agent Mulder withdrew to the far side  
of the bay, watching the process out of the corner of his eye.   
Scully suppressed a small, superior smile, then returned to her  
examination of the body's internal organs.

As well as to her thoughts concerning the agent observing. So he  
was a little squeamish around autopsies. Contrary to popular  
opinion, which held that Agent Mulder did not possess human  
emotions unless sarcasm counted as such.

Must be hell to work with him, if it were true. Possibly it was;  
she had experienced a dose already. She should thank the stars  
that she hadn't been assigned to him.

Still...popular knowledge also held that Mulder was a brilliant  
agent, if somewhat disconnected from reality. And he did work on  
certain important assignments. Not that she complained, but  
occasionally teaching detail could become repetitive. Boring, to  
be totally honest. The VCD, Mulder and all, saw the action.   
Maybe more than she'd care for. In the Bureau there was a fine  
line between interesting and dangerous.

Scully cared a great deal for her chosen career, but enough to  
risk her life for it? She didn't think so. She had yet to be in  
a situation in which she had to know.

Well, at least now she was performing a relatively important  
function. That is, if this special case Mulder was investigating  
actually had any relevancy in regards to a crime. She hadn't  
found evidence of that yet.

As a matter of fact she hadn't found evidence of anything. All  
the organs seemed perfectly healthy. No contusions, stress,  
internal hemorrhaging. Nothing to indicate the reason the body  
was now in an autopsy bay, as opposed to walking around alive.   
Of course there could be plenty of signs invisible to Scully now.   
But if so... "I see nothing here to indicate foul play," she  
said.

Agent Mulder finally tore his gaze off the body and subjected  
Scully to its intensity. "So why is she dead?"

"I don't know." Scully shrugged. "They're checking for poisoning,  
of course. But right now I'd have to say that it's most likely  
something like a brain hemorrhage. Undetectable right now. And  
almost definitely not murder."

"Death by natural causes?"

"Unless the blood tests come back positive, that would be my  
ruling, yes."

"That was the ruling on the other four, too."

"Other four?" Scully inquired.

"Four other women her age, died over the last month in the same  
town." He gestured vaguely, not exactly speaking to her. More  
likely listing the facts to get them straight in his own mind.  
"No sign of death, no sign of murder. VCD passed it over but  
there's something going on here that's decidedly unpleasant."

"What do you think it is?" she asked, feeling her pulse pick up  
slightly. Four other matching deaths, and Violent Crimes ignored  
it? It certainly sounded spooky; it also sounded distinctly like  
a crime. Maybe Mulder didn't spend all of his time chasing after  
ghosts.

He was shaking his head. "Can't say exactly yet." For a third  
time that brief smile flitted across his face and vanished. "Or  
if I did say it would be ignored."

"What?" she pressed, curious. And feeling peculiarly  
responsible. She had gotten involved; she wanted to see this  
case solved now, too.

He hesitated, looking at her. Then turned away. "Nothing. A  
typical theory of mine, I'm sure you've heard a thousand  
variations of them from your colleagues. I was hoping I was  
wrong, that the FBI forensics could find something overlooked by  
locals, but..." He trailed off. Then muttered, to himself, "If  
I'm right, in a week a sixth woman'll be in an autopsy bay,  
unless I can find some way to stop this--" Without even a  
farewell Agent Mulder charged out of the door.

Feeling only slightly foolish Scully pursued him a few steps down  
the hall. "Agent Mulder! Is there anything I can do?"

He almost skidded to a halt, spun around to face her. "No, I'm  
afraid. But thank you for your time, Dr. Scully, I'm sorry it  
proved to be useless."

In the bright hall lights, as opposed to the shadows of the  
autopsy bay, she noticed other details about his face.   
Specifically the haggard look, dark circles under the eyes and a  
gauntness that indicated irregular eating patterns. "Agent  
Mulder? Are you sick, by any chance?"

He frowned at her, confusion obvious. "No, I'm fine. Why?"

Because I'm a doctor and though my specialty may be forensics,  
I'm tempted to give you a check-up right here and now. "You look  
as if you haven't been sleeping well," she said cautiously.

"I've been busy. I don't need much sleep."

"You really should get to bed sometime--"

"Is that a proposition, Doctor?" he asked, regarding her slyly.

She blushed, damning her light complexion. "Medical advice," she  
informed him stiffly. "Your health is important if you're going  
to close this case successfully."

"Solving the case takes precedence over my health," he said.   
Ouch; his tone could freeze nitrogen. "Which is not your concern  
anyhow, Agent Scully," he added for good measure.

Forcing herself not to take a step back she replied, "It's your  
life. Good day, Agent Mulder."

"Good day, doctor," he answered, then continued down the hall.

"Good luck," she called after him. He nodded once and kept  
going.

'Solving this case takes precedence over my health' indeed.   
Obsession, plain and simple. In some ways it sounded as if he  
needed a partner, just to keep him in line.

But still...obsession or not, he was doing something. He was  
solving a case. It even sounded as if he was saving lives, or at  
least trying to. His life may be stressful, dangerous, but with  
it he was accomplishing something. Something of great importance  
to him, but also to the rest of the world. They may laugh at him  
behind his back at the Bureau, but it didn't matter to him  
apparently and why should it? His reward was bigger than a good  
reputation; his reward was the success of helping the people, the  
world around him. Changing it, making it a better place.

Stop it, you're being an idealist, she told herself. Your life  
is good, and you are doing a lot. Teaching is important,  
learning is important, and the people you train may go on to do  
as much as Agent Mulder. But a small part of her couldn't help  
but wish that she could do as much herself...

Idealist. Striding out of the J. Edgar Hoover building he  
pondered her last words. "Good luck." Luck would certainly be  
helpful; pity Fate never seemed to think so when it came to him  
and what he did. Fighting every step of the way to even get a  
case, and then once he was on it--

Demonic possession, some evil killing because the hosts it  
desired wouldn't accept it. How do you stop something like that?   
When you can't even explain your theory because everyone would  
laugh you right out of the Bureau. When your evidence is nothing  
but a few old stories found in musty ancient tomes, and five dead  
bodies.

Six if you don't act fast, Mulder.

God, sometimes a partner would come in handy on these things.   
Someone to lend a hand, come up with possible counter-attacks,  
back-up when things got darkest. Someone who would actually  
listen to his theories, listen to them with an open mind, even  
protest his logic, point out flaws he couldn't see, but  
nonetheless not simply close their ears.

A partner. Why think on these lines? In the VCD he got assigned  
one every case, just to make sure he kept on track, didn't come  
up with some spooky theory, simply found the killer. And working  
on the X-files...they were his own domain. He didn't want them  
invaded.

Particularly not by some scientific pathologist who obviously  
relied on logic and reasoning and probably was blind to instinct  
and intuition. Four years ago when it had come through the  
grapevine that Special Agent Dr. Dana Scully was to be made his  
partner he had dug up all he could on her. A fine agent. Just  
what the bureau liked. Amazing that she hadn't advanced any  
further than Quantico by now.

A perfect pick to close him down once and for all.

Well, you managed that quite nicely on your own, didn't you, he  
thought to himself. No matter. With his work in the VCD and  
from calling in most favors, they let him keep the room in the  
basement for dumping the files he liked. Occasionally they even  
allowed him to investigate them.

This current one, well, he had thought it showed signs of aliens,  
no matter that he was wrong. Something else equally sinister was  
happening here, same thing that had happened a century ago he  
found when he looked to the past, and he would do his utmost to  
stop it. It was his job.

He wished to hell that that last girl had looked a little less  
like a grown Samantha. He had managed to hide his feelings  
effectively from everyone, that Scully doctor hadn't noticed a  
thing, thought it was simple distaste for autopsies when he  
retreated away from the body.

But last night he had screamed loud enough the neighbors called  
the police. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he slept  
an entire night without jerking awake a dozen times, but he would  
really have to do something about the noise. Maybe he should get  
something to help him sleep, except he hated drugging himself, he  
had too many enemies out there.

He guessed--well, actually he knew, with his background in  
psychology--that talking about it would help. Simply to tell  
someone, get it off his chest, tell them about the nightmares,  
tell them about Samantha and how she was taken, tell them about  
how he was searching for the truth of that, for every truth...

Yes, and get laughed out of the Bureau if he told an agent and  
tossed out if he told a psychiatrist. Maybe even thrown in the  
asylum, particularly if they figured out that his job was the  
only thing keeping him partway sane, giving him purpose.

Half the agents in the VCD were scared out of their wits by him.   
All the ones that had seem him really in action, they wouldn't  
work with him, he was just way too spooky. And they had planned  
to partner him with that Dr. Scully?

Cruel of the higher-ups, really. Pair him up with that little  
pathologist? Maybe she would have even wanted to at first. He  
did have an up side to his reputation, after all. All that crap  
about the most brilliant profiler in the Bureau and then of  
course there was the female perspective.

Pity he wasn't more interested, he could have an affair with  
every woman in the building, to tell from what rumors passed his  
way. He had had a couple, as a matter of fact; short one night  
or one week stands. Generally they didn't want more and neither  
did he. He hadn't gotten the impression that Agent Scully had  
such leanings and frankly he didn't mind. She was pretty  
perhaps, but not his type. Way too short and delicate-seeming,  
and the red hair did nothing for him. Tall athletic blond any  
day of the week over a tiny redhead.

Especially a redhead with a decided mothering complex, or at  
least a doctoring one. Worrying about his health less than an  
hour after meeting. No, that proposed partnership wouldn't have  
lasted a day. Either she would have fled back to Quantico or he  
would have pulled his gun and shot her himself.

Or even worse than that. She may not have believed a word he  
said, and then she would have been in way over her head. Her  
logic and her science not only would have been a hindrance to  
him, but also a danger to her. What if she had charged into some  
dangerous place because she wouldn't heed her partner's  
outrageous warnings? Tried to face down some character  
like...his mind called up old files. Like E.V.Tooms, amazing the  
VCD had ever found him, and then they let him go--in twenty-six  
years Mulder hoped to still be around to try to stop him again.

Well, what if she had gone against him and gotten her liver  
swallowed? He could come up with a thousand other scenarios;  
hell, why not, she might even have had attention drawn to her via  
the X-files and gotten taken, same as Samantha.

No, he definitely didn't need the troubles a partner such as her  
could have wreaked upon the files and upon him.

Still, he mused, one would be useful right about now. Someone to  
verify his suppositions. Maybe one who could have gone back so  
he could stay in that town--hmm, a pathologist could have come in  
handy, if she had been with him she could have done the autopsy  
right there and then.

Might-have-beens are useless, he admonished himself, and besides  
you've established that you're better off the way things stand  
now. Fortunately the way he understood matters, the case  
wouldn't hit the fan for a few more days. He had a few hours to  
plan, to prepare. Even to sleep.

He actually took her advice and went to bed at a reasonable time.   
Not even an hour after midnight.

At three AM he jerked awake, aware that he had been having a  
nightmare, the details still clear in his mind. His throat  
wasn't raw, he hadn't been shouting.

Before he was even fully awake he had grabbed the telephone by  
the couch and was dialing a number.

It was answered after only one ring. "Dana Scully."

"This is Mulder."

"Mulder! What is it?"

"Nothing," he stammered. "Nothing really, I'm sorry I called.   
I...I just had a thought."

"Yes?" Very patient, that voice on the other end.

"About that autopsy today? I was...did you check for radiation  
damage? Not burns, but cellular damage?"

"Why? Why at three o'clock in the morning, particularly?"

"Just...just wondering."

"Mulder," Scully said. "Yes, I checked for radiation damage. I  
/always/ check for radiation damage. Even when /you/ don't think  
it's aliens, when you're convinced it's demonic entities  
instead."

"And?"

A distinct sigh came over the lines quite clearly. "No signs of  
radiation at all. At this time of the night, or morning, your  
theory is sounding quite plausible, do you know that? Is that  
why you called, to convince me easily?"

"Yes," and he forced a light bantering tone. He didn't have to  
force too hard, actually. "Is it working? Should I try this  
again?"

"No!"

"Alright. Sorry to wake you, Scully." He didn't hang up,  
though, and neither did she. After a moment he spoke again.   
"Scully, you were awake already, you must have been to answer so  
fast."

An equally long silence stretched out, broken by her reply. "I  
had a...dream. Not really a nightmare. But..."

"About what?"

"Look, this is quite a case, we both need sleep. This, all of  
this, can wait until morning, at a more reasonable hour." Scully  
yawned, made no attempt to hide it. "I'll see you tomorrow,  
partner."

"Today, you mean. At the office. Until then, sleep well,  
partner."

"You too." The line buzzed. Mulder hung up the receiver, lay  
down, and slept well, all through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm a chicken!  
> I say I'm not really a relationshipper, but even I can't bear to  
> keep them apart for an entire story... :)  
> As always, comments if not directly solicited are strongly  
> encouraged.


End file.
